


Almost-But-Not-Quite Said

by Realmer06



Category: Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Bram POV, Canon Compliant, M/M, Spoilers, missing moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 05:14:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13652142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Realmer06/pseuds/Realmer06
Summary: He tries to tell himself he's distancing himself from Simon to spare them both pain, but it's a lie, and one he can't quite get away with.





	Almost-But-Not-Quite Said

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into the Simon vs the Homo Sapiens Agenda fandom, but I fell in love with this book about two weeks ago, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. I love these two, and I'm obsessed with Bram's POV through basically the whole story. I've read everything that's been written for the fandom, so I decided I should add something for everyone else. I hope I did it justice!

“You look like hell.”

 

Bram can’t even work up the energy to glare at Garrett, or point out that he’s well aware he looks like hell. He looks like hell, and he feels like hell. 

 

_ Anyway, it looks like things are working out the way you wanted them to. So, good for you. _

 

He hates that he wrote it. He hates that he sent it. He hates that he feels the need to distance himself with everything Jacques -- Simon -- is going through. Especially now that he  _ knows _ everything Simon -- Jacques -- is going through.

 

Five days ago, everything seemed like it was falling into place. 

 

He’d been crushing on Simon Spier for literal years (like two of them, but still). And then, assuming that Simon was an impossible dream, he’d given himself the green light to start falling for the boy he’d started anonymously emailing in August. And  _ then _ , they’d turned out to be one and the same, and it was all sort of perfect -- excepting the shit about Simon getting outed, but he’d had a plan for that. Once he’d figured it out, that Simon was Jacques and Jacques was Simon, he’d made up his mind that he was going to come out. He was going to tell Simon who he was, and he was going to come out, overwhelming nausea at the prospect be damned, because no one deserved to be outed, and no one deserved to be outed  _ alone _ . He’d had a  _ plan _ .

 

And then Simon tried to guess who he was. 

 

He knows he can’t blame Simon. The whole thing might have been fairy-tale perfecton on Bram’s end, but it wasn’t reasonable to expect that Simon had also been crushing on  _ him  _ for literal years. Especially given that he and Simon barely speak to each other because Bram is so often incapable of basic human interaction. 

 

No, he knows he could have pushed past that minor sting of disappointment (and not-so-minor jealousy of some boy who was in a position to push Simon down dark hallways in rolling chairs) if not for the conversation between Simon and Abby he overheard in English. About a boy who asked Simon out. A boy who shared a name with Calvin Coolidge and Nina Price, who presumably had blue eyes and liked to draw, and --

 

_ Anyway, it looks like things are working out the way you wanted them to. So, good for you. _

 

He sent it Friday afternoon at 2:12pm. He hasn’t let himself open his gmail since. It’s better this way. Better to distance himself now than make more of a fool of himself later. Better to forget all the flirting and innuendo and the things almost but not quite said, and let Simon live out his fairy tale with the boy he’d clearly been crushing on who miraculously happened to be gay, or bi, or  _ interested _ at least and who had asked him out. It’s  _ fine _ . It’s fine. He’s told himself that all weekend. 

 

“Seriously, dude, you look worse than you did Friday before practice.”

 

Bram drags his eyes open and meets Garrett’s. “It’s been a long weekend,” he manages to say. “And I haven’t gotten enough sleep.”

 

“Been pulling all nighters for that history project, right?”

 

And because the truth is too sticky and awkward and confidential and complicated to disclose, Bram just says, “Something like that.” But then he feels guilty for lying, or for pseudo-lying, so he follows it up with, “More than that, actually.”

 

Garrett immediately says, “Do you want to talk about it?” The words come out awkwardly, like he isn’t sure he should offer, and that makes sense, since before a couple weeks ago, before Bram came out to Garrett, Bram and Garrett were not the kind of best friends who talked about their feelings much. But the offer is genuine, and it makes Bram smile even as he shakes his head.

 

“I can’t,” he says. “Too much I don’t have permission to share. But thanks.”

 

“Anything I can do to help?”

 

“I’d really like to go kick the crap out of a soccer ball,” Bram says. Garrett nods.

 

“That I can do.”

 

They go to a park within walking distance of Bram’s house. Kicking the crap out of a soccer ball helps, actually. It lets him vent some of his frustrations, and if he focuses on the ball and the net in front of him, he almost doesn’t think about Simon. Jacques. Simon. 

 

A few other guys join them at the net and ask if they want to face off. So they play a friendly game of three on three, and when they’re all tied up, Garrett has the chance to make an amazing shot from almost the center circle, but he passes it to Bram instead, and lets Bram score the winning goal. 

 

“Why didn’t you take it?” Bram asks after the other guys have thanked them for the game and headed away. Garrett shrugs.

 

“Sometimes it’s better to set up the assist.”

 

The words stop Bram cold, because Garrett is absolutely right and Bram is an idiot. Garrett is still talking, but Bram has stopped listening.

 

“I have to go.” He’s sorry to be so abrupt, and he knows Garrett deserves an explanation, but he doesn’t have time to offer one just now. “I’m sorry, man, and I’ll make it up to you, but I have to go.”

 

“Bram, you okay?” Garrett asks with some concern. Bram just shakes his head.

 

“No. I’m being stupid, and I’m being selfish, and I have to fix it. Seriously, man, thank you.”

 

“Any time,” Garrett says, sounding bewildered. “You are gonna tell me what you’re thanking me for someday, right?” He yells the last because Bram is already jogging away, back toward his home.

 

“Someday, yeah!” he yells back over his shoulder. 

 

_ Anyway, it looks like things are working out the way you wanted them to. So, good for you. _

 

He’s an asshole. A passive-aggressive asshole. He’s spent the weekend arguing with himself that he sent that email and distanced himself from Simon for Simon’s own good, and to spare them both pain, but that’s not the truth, and he can’t pretend it is anymore. He sent that email to spare  _ himself _ pain, and only himself. He wasn’t thinking about Simon at all, and he’s forced to acknowledge that now.

 

No matter what Simon chooses, Blue needs to be there for him, no matter how much it will kill Bram to watch Simon date someone else. Simon’s happiness should matter most. Sometimes it’s better to set up the assist. 

 

He spends the jog home composing an apology, an explanation, and it all goes out the window when he opens his gmail and reads Simon’s frustrated and desperate responses.

 

_ I really do understand if you don’t find me attractive or whatever. I’ll get over it. _

 

He only needs to read that line once to jump into action, and for the first time, he writes his response without double checking every word, without second guessing what he’s saying. It spill straight out onto the page, like that first poem so long ago, honest and straightforward and no longer almost but not quite said because Simon deserves more than that. Simon deserves the truth.

 

_ I love the way you smile like you don’t realize you’re doing it. I love your perpetual bed head. I love the way you hold eye contact a moment longer than you need to. And I love your moon-gray eyes. So if you think I’m not attracted to you, Simon, you’re crazy. _

 

He writes his phone number because he’s ready for Simon to have it. He’s ready for Simon to know who he is. He’s ready to take that leap. 

 

He tapes the note inside the Elliott Smith shirt he bought ages ago. He’ll leave it at Simon’s locker tomorrow morning. 

 

And then he’ll wait. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll get that fairy-tale ending after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider leaving a review.


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